Staying Alive

If you say to me, I’m more important than these,
then I will place my fear and this life you claim is dear in your hands.[1]

I bolted upright in my bed and blurted out to an empty house, “I don’t have three years to lose!” At the age of 45, I couldn’t afford to be emotionally devastated for three years–not as a mom and not as a professional. I had read that straight women from gay/straight marriages flounder for 3 - 5 years with intense bouts of depression, self-loathing, and thoughts of suicide after being divorced from their gay husbands.[2]

I vowed this was not going to happen to me, so I jumped into my first year after the divorce with Super Woman ambitions. I kept my full-time job, added graduate classes, packed and moved to a new house, and tackled becoming a single mom. Nonetheless, my attempts to move forward were riddled with depression, accidents, major injuries, chronic fatigue and pain, and unemployment.

Of all the challenges I faced after my divorce, staying alive was the most difficult to overcome. The emotional turmoil from a broken heart and loss of my precious family, the pressure and fatigue of being a single parent, and the financial stress from not having adequate financial support was so overwhelming that my mind jumped into the dark places. And in those dark corners, feelings of despair and thoughts of ending my life, and thus my pain, followed me around for years. But suicide was not an option for me because my son deserved a mother who lived.

So I found ways to cope and get through each day, even if it was only one minute at a time. I would go outside, lay on the lawn, grip the grass in anguish and weep. Or I’d traipse off into the nearby woods to smash long branches against mature pine trees until I was exhausted. I would then embrace the temporary feeling of relief, apologize to the trees, and wipe the mud off my high heels before returning to my apartment.

When I couldn’t overcome the darkest moments, I called different people for help because I didn’t want to burden any one person with my emotional baggage. I rotated calls between friends, family, therapists, and pastors who were emotionally supportive. If someone didn’t answer, I called the next person on my list. Once, I dialed number after number and never reached anyone. That’s when I called the suicide hotline.

My sister was a lifesaver more than once. She had a soothing way of validating my anguish and fear. “That’s got to suck!” she’d say. Surprisingly, I felt heard and was motivated to keep going. Rev. Catherine also calmed my mind. She embraced me and my reality with words of understanding and helped me reframe the way I saw myself. “You are doing a great job with the hand you’ve been dealt,” she’d say. Those words shifted me away from seeing myself as the cause of my situation.

A few years after my divorce, I moved to the Pacific Northwest to be near family, hoping to make a better life for myself and my son. Too quickly, however, I used up my financial resources and retirement savings on rent, food, car payments, insurance, and medical expenses. My plans for a better life were not working out so well. Before my account was depleted, a good friend said we could move in with her family. I accepted her gracious offer and was thankful that my son and I had a place to stay for the rest of the school year.[3]

As summer came to a close, I still hadn’t secured a job, so my son went to live with his father. It was a relief to know that my teenager would be in good hands even though he would be hundreds of miles away. I had been fighting off suicidal ideology for almost five years since my divorce, but when my son took off in that jet to go live with his father, I was consumed with a different kind of darkness–one that buried any hope and my will to try anymore.

I started making plans to end the pain, but a quick stop by my cousin’s place squelched those plans. She knew me all too well and, therefore, asked if I was thinking about suicide. I couldn’t lie to her because, deep down, I was hoping there was another way to live without all this darkness. After disclosing my intentions, she drove me to the hospital where I checked in to get the help I needed.

Although I spent three days in the clinic, it only took one day to wake up emotionally as I interacted with nice people who faced trauma and horrors far more devastating than mine. By the second day, I made a commitment to fully live again. On the third day, I checked out early and started an out-patient program that turned my life around.

Months later, the desire to end my life totally disappeared. I don’t know if it was because I completed my grief work, because I learned how to take the right kind of care of myself, and because I was no longer consumed by fear. I do know, however, I finally chose to stay alive…for myself, my son, my sister, my family and friends…and for you.

NOTES:
[1] I wrote the song Wings on Wind (Evolve 2009) to help me trust in a God who cares about me even when swimming in the dark waters between life and death.
[2] When Husbands Come Out of the Closet. Jean Schaar Gochros. 1989.
[3] The McKinney-Vento Homeless Assistance Act is a federal law that ensures students experiencing homelessness have access to a free, appropriate public education. The act defines homelessness broadly to include children living in shelters, motels, cars, or sharing housing with others due to economic hardship.

Staying Alive by Cindy Akana
Copyright 2025 Akana Productions